NOTES  - not for publication yet - Introduction:

 

A collection of poetry.  Dedicated to my Pisces Poet Mother, who passed away a month ago at just shy of ninety-two.   Always gracious and a lady, she gave classic great example and took time to teach anything that interested us.   Year of the Tiger-born, she was all that, but non-violent.   Still when it was right to roar, she was more likely to take one huge symbolic action , respecting the intelligence of her enemy of the moment to much to quibble over a an obvious and extreme faux.  Boar and Tiger are not compatible in places, but both are loyalists and feel love is an action word - with Tiger or Boar on your side, you cannot lose.

 

 

I wish there were copies of my parents love poems to one another. Much of that love was  in writing since their courtship spanned WWII and both of them doing their part, geographically apart.  After many fine years, they fell ill in health and that undid the money,  and it was divorce before they recuperated and could be friends again, both remarried till life's end and well, to others. 

The more grownup I became, the more I was impressed with them.   Their discouragements would have destroyed most:  orphaning, the great depression curtailed their desired education goals, then there were health challenges, WWII, injury and afflictions, loss of a child.   But their love and gifts empowered them and they expected - expected -   themselves to win over it all and go dancing on to new victories in public and private life!    They worked with children, money, technology;  over and over they added to their education, until age stopped them and then they learned the latest for seniors till their health stopped them.

 They were so beautiful and as a child, it was their love and romance that inspired me to learn everything and pray that my own Handsome Prince would arrive one day for me....and He did - though passed away now, as well - but computer data can be totally wiped better than my memory, and I am writing this NOW before age takes memory away.   I hope you find it a pleasure to enjoy the true story of those two people and the  "way above average"  way they pursued the best in life,  on good days and bad.   Every good thing they won and earned they shared,  and taught us so lovingly to do the same.  We have not let them down.

 

My parents had three libraries: one in the den / living-room with books for everyone's eyes  - Bible, encyclopedia, classics for young and old. A second one in the kitchen for cookbooks; a third in the upstairs hall closet shelf with technical books for professional and private use and a few novels etc. that we children were not really supposed to get at, yet; and both parents had small secret stashes for private medical factoids and romance....we NEVER knew about these and it was never brought up, not even when we were grown. But they both passed now, and I am telling - absolutely from pride and fun memory of the two best parents one earth.

From teen days:

  • "I think that I shall never see, a word more wonderful than "We"  - It's not an "-ist" , it's not an "-ism" , it just means US without a schism - by unknown
  • "Statement" -  If I touch you, do not tremble, like a leaf silk-touched by dew; do not let the modest oneness of the act become destroyed.  If I touch you, let the touch be just the gentle, quiet statement that I believe in you, as a bee believes in flower! "   - Peter Kassan , at age 17  found by elle in 1965 and valid still.
  • "Do I contradict myself? I contain multitudes ! "  - Walt Whitman 
  • "Theme song to "High Noon" was HIS, in those days - "Do not forsake me..."  sung by Tex Ritter, father of the beloved late John.

 

From bride's days may take two tries to share.   "For all We know" , the song, was a themesong we smiled at driving along, sightseeing the countryside of our new home town - with finally our life after school and war service and childbirth and work paths had been achieved.

THIRD MILLENNIUM SONG


"We are diverse and the diversity is the dynamic!

Exhilirated

at the sense of our role as visitors in the universe.

We who visit are the sons of the morning,

the daughters of the day!

We have seen our souls at noon,

on the busy park in the center of town,

and danced to rhythms of our own work!

As always, there is the futility,

certainty of disaster, but also of salvation!

We glitter in the interactive,

more and better than ever before and,

accepting our part in the diversity of who we are,

we stopped the lament!

We found our lights!

and we share wholeheartedly,

our individual contributions,

scrambling to use the new lights well;

sons of the morning, daughters of the day -

making a day of light once again!

 

Fun poetry - full of heart if lacking in art-  of my Dad's family - I needed it for a family get-together and it had to be done 'alla prima' - or at one sitting !

So.....it cures flu, if you get into its pace.  ...elle


"In a Mirrored Room" - by Richard Charles Smith - is my Brother's book of poetry and  in the libraries.  "Class of '65 and guystuff...goodguy stuff.   
 I could not find it for purchase online, so I may see if he wants to format it to Amazon for us - I do have a copy of the book - will excerpt it here.   If you would like a copy, ask me. I have a few..


IF   1931

BY ELIZABETH LINCOLN OTIS   -  Written for girls

If you can dress to make yourself attractive,

      Yet not make puffs and curls your chief delight;

If you can swim and row, be strong and active,

      But of the gentler graces lose not sight;

If you can dance without a craze for dancing,

       Play without giving play too strong a hold,

Enjoy the love of friends without romancing,

       Care for the weak, the friendless and the old;

 

If you can master French and Greek and Latin,

       And not acquire, as well, a priggish mien,

If you can feel the touch of silk and satin

       Without despising calico and jean;

If you can ply a saw and use a hammer,

       Can do a man’s work when the need occurs,

Can sing when asked, without excuse or stammer,

       Can rise above unfriendly snubs and slurs;

If you can make good bread as well as fudges,

       Can sew with skill and have an eye for dust,

If you can be a friend and hold no grudges,

       A girl whom all will love because they must;

 

If sometime you should meet and love another

       And make a home with faith and peace enshrined,

And you its soul—a loyal wife and mother—

       You’ll work out pretty nearly to my mind

The plan that’s been developed through the ages,

       And win the best that life can have in store,

You’ll be, my girl, the model for the sages—

       A woman whom the world will bow before.

 

Source: Father: An Anthology of Verse (EP Dutton & Company, 1931)

 

IF   1895 

by Nobel Laureate - Rudyard Kipling - Written for Boys

If you can keep your head when all about you
 Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
  But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
  Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
  And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
  If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
  And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
  Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
  And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
  And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
  And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
  To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
  Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
  Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
  If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
  With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
  And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son.